C'est La Vie
by shimmer-light
Summary: It's a wondrous occasion; little Harry Potter discovers something even more freakish than himself. What a splendid notebook it is, indeed! Slash content
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Little Harry stared at the black notebook with pretty, curving letters on the cover in fascination. It was lying innocently upon the dirty concrete of the parking lot. Aunt Petunia was already further ahead by the car, attempting to wrestle the trunk open, her hands leaden down by the many shopping bags Harry wasn't able to carry. His arms were still much too small, his undeveloped muscles far too weak to be able to take the whole burden, so Petunia had been forced to carry most of the fresh groceries on her own. A muttered string of curses left the struggling woman's mouth as a bag slipped through her tight hold just as the lid popped open, spilling the contents all over the ground. Aunt Petunia glared down at the disaster with a pinched expression, and glanced up to locate her nephew with a scowl so dark, Harry would have known to hide as fast as possible if he had seen it.

But little Harry's attention was not on his angry Aunt. It was foolhardy of him to ignore four years worth of ingrained survival instincts, yet he couldn't tear his eyes off the notebook. In that moment, the woman's scary temper was the last thing on his young mind. How incredibly curious this object was!

The day had begun as any normal day in the Dursley household. Harry had woken up to make breakfast for his Uncle Vernon and his cousin, Dudley, as Aunt Petunia had attempted to get them out of bed upstairs. This usually took at least twenty minutes; plenty enough time to make the scrambled eggs - seasoned with the perfect amount of salt and pepper - and fry the whole packet of bacons - with special care to their crunchiness - the family's male members liked to consume in the mornings. After Uncle Vernon had left for work at the prestigious Grunnings, taking his son along to be dropped off at the kindergarden, Harry had spent the next half an hour tidying up the kitchen, as was his routine. Aunt Petunia hated messes after all, and it never bode well for little Harry if his Aunt was displeased with something, especially himself.

Harry had then retreated to his cupboard to await further instructions. His Aunt always had small chores for him to do, like scrubbing the toilet or watering the lawn. He was happy to help with whatever he could. He was such a burden after all. Poor Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were forced to put up with his freakshess - Harry couldn't yet pronounce the word _freakishness_ - so it was only right to 'earn his keep', as Uncle Vernon was fond of saying.

After he had gotten his orders to reorganize the garden shed, Harry had been busy until midday. When he had stepped back into the house, a bundle of cloth had come hurtling at his head, which Harry had managed to catch before it could drop to the pristine hardwood floor. Upon closer examination, Harry had been pleased to discover a clean, if a little faded, set of Dudley's old clothes. A happy smile had stretched his cheeks, and he had looked up at his Aunt with unadulterated joy.

They were going out! And she was taking Harry with her!

Washing up in the bathroom hurriedly with cold water from the sink - he was not allowed to use the hot tap unless given express permission for a _real_ shower - he had dressed and scurried to the front door, where his Aunt Petunia had been tapping her foot in an impatient manner. She had huffed, but yanked him over the threshold and to the car, careful to touch no more than the sleeve of his shirt. The engine had been already set into motion and the doors had been opened. Harry had climbed inside, settling in his designated spot in the back. The tattered newspaper covering the faux leather seat had crunched under his weight. The sound had drawn an irritated glance from his Aunt, but Harry could do little to please her in this regard; he couldn't just contamate - _contaminate_ was also a difficult word to remember - the upholstery! That would be terribly rude.

They had ridden to the supermarket in complete silence. Aunt Petunia expressed her disgust for the 'horrible noise they call music these days' often, so the radio was a taboo whenever she was present, and Harry knew better than trying to converse. Preposterous! Good freaks should always know their place.

The supermarket had been almost empty, only a few housewives like his Aunt browsing the shelves. Harry had pushed the cart while his Aunt had selected the desired goods. It had gotten hard to navigate with the ever growing pile of food blocking his vision and the weight making each push a trial for his small form, but he had managed with no accidents, thankfully. Perhaps he could even get a bread-roll for a job well done later. The thought had made Harry giddy. It was the reason he liked shopping so much; if he performed well, his Aunt sometimes showed her approval by giving him a treat. It was the best chore, ever!

At the checkout, the blonde cashier had shot indulgent smiles at Harry as he shoveled the groceries into the paper bags, though he had remained attentive not to put the easily squished or breakable things in the bottom. Aunt Petunia had grimaced upon spying the source of the lady's fond gaze, but had said nothing. If her eyes were a little cooler, the woman hadn't noticed. Harry, on the other hand, had winced. There went his chance at lunch.

They had been walking back to the car, their footsteps loud in the deserted parking lot, when the most extraordinary event had occurred. Harry had been lagging behind; a shoelace had come undone, so a great dose of caution had to be exercised if he wanted a meal at all that day. It wouldn't do to spoil his family's food, brought with Uncle Vernon's hard-earned money, by being clumsy and tripping. He had clutched the groceries to his chest tighter at the thought, craning his neck to the side so he could see where he was stepping from behind the towering bags.

Then, Harry had caught something strange in his peripheral vision. He had whipped his head up, his heart skipping a beat. Something had been falling from the sky, speeding down very fast, and Harry had become instantly worried. A bird must have forgotten how to fly, because there could be no other explanation. He had come to an abrupt halt, wanting nothing more than to save the poor thing from getting crushed by the landing. But how could he do that with his hands full? Should he throw the bags away to save the pitiful, forgetful animal? But if he did, where would that leave him? The Dursleys would be so _angry_...

However, little Harry had hesitated too long. It took no more than a second for the bird to reach the ground, less than the span of time between blinks. He had cringed at the dull thud, his lids already gluing themselves shut to avoid the grisly scene without conscious decision. An endless moment had passed, his heart hammering as tears threatened to spill, and Harry had finally cracked an eye open with difficulty. That poor-poor creature!

When the mostly still hidden, watery green orb had found the spot the tragedy had taken place at, both eyes had shot open wide in surprise. There was no bird there at all. Instead, it was - Harry searched his memories for the correct term - a notebook. How very strange, indeed! What on earth had a notebook been doing in the sky? They certainly shouldn't be able fly; that would be freaky. Freaky things were not supposed to happen, except around Harry. That was why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were always so disappointed with him. The world was not meant for freaky things. Yet, here lay the hard evidence to disapprove that absolute theory.

As Harry stood there, staring at his fellow freak and not hearing his cursing Aunt as she collected the scattered contents of her bag, he couldn't help feeling a little happy. He was not alone in freakshess after all! This was wonderful, even if a little sad at the same time. The notebook must have been cast away for its unacceptable tendencies, for not following the rules of a proper, normal world. Harry felt a strong sort of camaraderie with it. The same thing had happened to him as well; his parents had been so disappointed with him, they had been unable to bear his presence. His Aunt and Uncle had been kind enough to take him in though, and Harry couldn't have been more grateful. He was lucky to have such nice people for an extended family.

Perhaps it was his turn to show the same type of kindness. He could take the freak in, teach it how a normal notebook ought to behave. What a splendid idea! Harry was a fundamentally nice person, so his determination was unsurprising.

He was about to bend over to place the groceries on the ground so he could retrieve the unruly notebook, when his Aunt Petunia's shrill voice stopped him mid-move. Harry blinked, then shuddered when he saw her striding toward him, her lips forming an enraged, bloodless line as she gritted her teeth. How many times had she called him? He straightened, throwing an unsure glance at his partner in crime, taunting him from a mere three feet away. Should he leave it after all? His Aunt was getting nearer. But how could he do that? He would probably not get any food either way now, so what could it hurt?

Yet again, the hesitation had cost him the freedom of choice. His Aunt was there, hooking her spidery fingers into the sleeve of his shirt and she _pulled_. Harry stumbled forward, getting as far as two steps before gravity was left to run its course. His balance was lost, and his arms shot forward to abort the fall. The bags crashed down with deafening plops. Harry froze on his hands and knees, staring at the container of eggs that oozed a gooey mix of yolk and whites on the concrete. His Aunt was hissing at him like a cat, darting her eyes around the parking lot to search for any witnesses to Harry's shameful display of incompetence. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction when she found no one in the vicinity, and Harry sighed in relief as well. Oh, how embarrassed his Aunt would be if people knew what an abomation - _abomination_ was a very hard word - she had to put up with!

"You freak!" she spat, clearer, her face contorted into a scary mask. "Clean that up! And you better hope that there are enough eggs left for tomorrow's breakfast. I don't have time to buy more now. I have to pick up Diddy-Dumms from the kindergarden in an hour."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry murmured quietly, as she strode away to finish organizing everything in the trunk, muttering about the stupid freak under her breath.

Resigned to the well-deserved punishment that was in store for him later on, Harry raked the scattered onions and other vegetables back into the scrunched paper, leaving the broken eggs for last. He grimaced as the icky sludge stuck to his fingers, but he situated the box carefully on a bed of lettuce only Aunt Petunia ever ate.

He was ready to hoist the packed groceries up when he remembered the notebook. Looking to the side, he saw his Aunt rummaging around at the back of the car. She wouldn't be pleased if she knew - he wasn't supposed to have things of his own, let alone freaky things, but...

All his muscles tensed at once, and he turned his head in a slow, robotic motion, until the cause of the whole mess came into sight. After a few motionless heartbeats, he checked on the fuming woman one last time, and sprinted ahead as if the Devil itself was on his heals. His fingers stretched forward, grabbing hold of his prize, which he shoved into his waistband and covered up with his shirt. He ran back to the bags, and panted as if he had completed no less than an entire marathon. His hands and knees trembled, yet there was an imperceptible, exhilarated grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He had done it! The notebook was his!

- CLV -

And so had the remarkable event come to pass, wherein Harry Potter gained possession of a small, black notebook titled: _Death Note._

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_**A/N:** I would love to hear your opinions! :)_


	2. Chapter 1 part II

**Chapter 1**

Harry was terribly bored. He had been shut away in his cupboard for the past day and a half. Not that he disliked his cupboard, of course, he was happy to have his very own space, but the locks on the outside of the door became daunting on occasion. The hunger clawing at his tummy like an angry mommy-bear wasn't too comfortable either, but a freak like him deserved not to eat when he had obviously been in the wrong. Harry had broken not only the eggs yesterday in the parking lot, but then had the nerve to place a carton of milk at the edge of the counter, even though he knew quite well that Dudley was at the age where children were 'most prone to accidents'. The milk had spilled all over his shrieking cousin when the boy had pawed around for a bar of chocolate in its vicinity. Aunt Petunia had been cross, which was understandable.

A creak sounded from outside, the floorboards in need of some repair, despite the meticulous care they were treated with. Harry hated to come across as rude, but he had a suspicion that Uncle Vernon's considerable weight was to blame. Harry often heard quiet snaps and cracks as his Uncle lumbered through the hallway, the hardwood complaining with pitiful groans. The stairs were of the same mind and little Harry was terrified whenever they were in use, dreading the moment they would give up their fight and fall on top of his head.

But this time it was not Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps, as far as he could tell. The thought was confirmed when the locks on his door rattled and Aunt Petunia's face was revealed. She held a plate in her hand, complete with a few pieces of toast that were a little black around the edges and a goop of butter on the side. Harry smiled. He was getting food! He thanked his Aunt as she shoved the plate into his hands, then swung the door shut. It was too dark to see this way, but Harry had discovered the trick long ago; he maneuvered the food close to the crack under the door, enough light filtering in to illuminate that small patch of ground.

He ate his meal with gusto, wondering when he would be allowed out. The punishment was deserved, no doubt, but he worried how his Aunt could possibly manage all those chores alone. Didn't she need Harry? There was so much to do around here, how could she handle it on her own?

When he ate everything, Harry scooted backwards, careful not to crash into his potty. It was starting to get smelly, and he had no desire to spill it all over his cupboard. Reaching his cot, he climbed up on the mattress, drawing his legs up. He hugged his knees to his chest. However much he didn't mind having his own space, Harry could really do without the darkness. He didn't like that part at all.

Something poked at his hip and Harry shifted to get away from the sharp object. He glanced down in the vague direction of his pillow. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the expression cleared just as fast.

The naughty notebook! He had almost forgotten about it. He had hidden it under the pillow as soon as the chance had presented itself, but he had to find a more secure hidey hole for it. Aunt Petunia could have easily discovered it, and Harry shuddered at the possibility.

Glancing at his door with some guilt for being so sneaky, he felt around for the rectangular shape. Placing it on his lap, he stared down at it for a second, blind, before moving back to the crack that let the light through. He wanted to see if there were any pictures in it. Perhaps he could find out why the notebook decided to be freaky, and cure the problem by catching it at the roots.

Opening the cover, he saw many shapes ordered into neat rows beneath each other, but none of them made sense to little Harry. The miniature drawings were called letters, and didn't resemble anything to associate them with, no matter how hard Harry squinted to sharpen his focus in the dark conditions. They were the same as the letters on Uncle Vernon's newspapers and his Aunt's colorful magazines. This meant, even if it was a bit disappointing, that so far the notebook contained at least one thing all good, normal notebooks should.

Harry turned the page, and saw the next was filled with more letters, although they appeared somewhat different from the previous ones. They were smaller, squiggly and uneven, not curvy and pretty. A few more pages in, and the letters disappeared altogether, leaving the notebook blank.

Harry tapped his lips with a finger, thinking. Maybe if he drew the notebook something exciting, it wouldn't go looking for its own adventures, and would stop acting naughty. He nodded to himself. Yes, that was a good plan. He even had a few broken crayons he had fished out from among the trash when Dudley had deemed them useless. He would never dream of actually _stealing_ them. Harry tried hard to be be good, despite being freaky. He knew that the mere possession of the utensils was bad, yet it was such a small infraction... Surely he could be forgiven?

With his course of action decided, Harry scooted over to the wall on his right, the one that wasn't the staircase's bottom. It was made up of bare, wooden panels, nailed together in a haphazard manner. Harry had discovered their precarious state when he had leaned against them once, and a dry-prune plank had dislodged, revealing a dark space behind instead of the main brick-wall one would expect. Little Harry didn't understand the logic behind constructions such as this, he was just glad to find a place where he could secret away smaller items his Aunt and Uncle wouldn't approve of. He had pried a different plank off closer to the floor, and hid anything that could get him into trouble behind it, like the broken toy soldiers and a small, yellow car that was missing its wheels. If he took another one off, maybe he could fit the notebook in later.

After retrieving the jagged stumps of two crayons - one red, the other green - Harry got to work. He had to contemplate for some time, because finding exciting things to draw was harder than it seemed. It was best to refrain from unnatural things his Aunt and Uncle had warned him of; like dragons, and wolfmen, and mermaids. Such things could never exist, and Harry didn't want to further encourage the notebook in being freaky. The whole point was making it normal after all.

So little Harry drew the notebook princes and knights in their large castles, eating, and laughing, and battling. He was lost in his imagination, leaning close over the picture so it would be easier to see. He only stopped when his relatives retired for the night, switching the lights off in the hallway. He yawned, and succeeded in fitting everything behind the planks. He went to sleep on his cot with a satisfied smile on his face.

- CLV -

Harry just finished his first week of school. He was six; a big boy already. That was what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept telling Dudley, in any case, and he and his cousin were about the same age. They attended the same class.

School was difficult. Most of the children around him already knew a lot of things, like the alphabet song and counting to ten, so Harry was having a hard time keeping up. Not to mention how often he was forced to squint at the board Mrs. Margaret wrote on, giving him awful headaches by the end of the day.

He would have to practice to catch up, because he didn't want to make the teacher mad. From what Harry had observed, the school didn't punish children like at home, but that didn't mean Harry couldn't get into trouble. Mrs. Margaret had told them that parents would get notified about their children not learning or missing homework, and though Harry didn't have a mommy or a daddy, his Aunt and Uncle would certainly get the call in their stead.

Finding time to study, however, was a dilemma. He had chores and cooking to think about. He couldn't understand why school would demand so much work from its students when other obligations had to be tended to. Not that Harry was complaining - it was a another very important and strictly enforced rule in the Dursley house _not_ to do so - it simply seemed unrealistic in his young mind. But he would do his best, and make Aunt and Uncle proud. They would be so happy if he could finally shake his freakishness! Future hugs and proud smiles were delightful fantasies.

Daydreams aside, Harry's chance to finish his homework presented itself at last. He was back in his cupboard on Saturday afternoon, because whenever his relatives decided to stay home for the weekend they didn't appreciate him roaming free, except when cooking meals. He had a few hours to hone his spelling skills.

Back in class, they had all written their own names and general characteristics. Their task for next week was to write three sentences about each of their close family members, and they would correct and discuss the entries with Mrs. Margaret.

Harry considered how to go about it. It would be prudent if he wrote everything on a separate piece of paper first, then - once he made sure there were no mistakes - copied it into his official notebook so he wouldn't make a mess of his schoolwork. Neat and tidy - that was Aunt Petunia's motto, and the philosophy had become ingrained during his last five years as her ward. He had the perfect item he could use for practicing purposes, too. The naughty notebook was short on written content anyway, and now Harry would be able to fill it with something other than pictures. He grinned. It was the ideal solution!

He dug the notebook out from behind the planks, and settled down by the door with a pencil and an eraser his Aunt had thoughtfully supplied him with. He had received a sharpener as well, but he hadn't needed it yet. He also opened the course book for reference.

Arranging the items in the sparse light by the crack, Harry studied the title on the notebook's cover with newfound appreciation. So pretty! He hoped he would be able to write so nicely after all those years of education Mrs. Margaret had explained children should get. Glancing at the alphabet on occasion, he began whispering the sounds the letters were supposed to mean.

"B-E-A-T-H. G-O-T-E."

Harry frowned. Something was amiss. A goat named Beth? The notebook had belonged to an animal? That would be freakier than freaky. He tried again, knowing he hadn't been as thorough in memorizing the letters not part of his own name as he should've. It took some research, but the glitch soon became evident.

"D-E-A-T-H. N-O-T-E."

The furrows on his forehead deepened. He had to pronounce the first word a couple of different ways before he got it - death.

Oh! That was where his mommy and daddy had gone. It was probably a very nice place to be. Certainly not as freakish as himself. Aunt Petunia sometimes said mean things about Harry's parents, but Harry was sure she was only upset they didn't want a freak for a son. She was a very nice lady after all, someone who would raise Harry out of the goodness of her heart despite his faults. But Harry didn't blame his mommy and daddy. Seeing how much grief he caused his poor Aunt and Uncle, it was understandable why his parents refused to deal with him.

Harry pushed the distracting thoughts to the back of his mind. He would contemplate the odd title later. Right now, he had practicing to do. He quickly opened the notebook and found his latest drawing. It showed a knight riding a horse. The horse was a little too green, the knight oddly red, but Harry worked with what he could. He smiled at it, proud, before skipping to the blank page.

Holding his pencil the way Mrs. Margaret had instructed, he tapped the tip on the floor. What should he write? The first family member he would introduce should be Aunt Petunia. He needed three sentences. He knew how to spell the name from the morning post, thank goodness, but the rest required some thought. After a few minutes of consideration, he began.

Mi aunt is Petunia Dursley. She is very nis. She liks thyngs cleen.

Harry nodded. Some revision was probably in order, but first he should complete what he could. Next came Uncle Vernon.

Mi uncul is Vernon Dursley. He liks to eet. Brekfest is his favrot.

And finally, it was Dudley's turn. He was the most difficult one.

Mi casyn is Duddly Dursley. He has many toys. He liks to eet too.

Harry sighed. Now he had to reread and correct what he could. Before he finished the first sentence, a loud shriek startled him.

"Mommy!" Dudley shouted.

There was a crash.

"I'm calling an ambulance!" snapped Uncle Vernon in a tone Harry had never heard him use in the past. He tilted his head in curiosity. What was going on out there?

- CLV -

An arguable number of dimensions away, Pasca was sitting by the edge of a rocky cliff. His long legs were dangling over the side and he was leaning forward, his elbows propped upon his knees to support his head. He shot a bored glance to the side, where Rima was humming a tuneless melody while she stared at the vast, eternally inky sky.

She snickered when she noticed his eyes on her and Pasca looked away.

"Sulking doesn't become you," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up," Pasca growled, his eyes scanning the endless drop ahead. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked, the question a pointed suggestion he didn't attempt to disguise.

"Nope." She gave the 'P' an annoying pop and Pasca's hackles rose in response.

"Leave," he spoke the command, knowing she wouldn't. He had become the best entertainment around since that doomed day some months ago, and it was unlikely she would give her source of amusement up without good reason.

"Ooh, grouchy-grouchy," she said, teasing. "So, any luck yet?"

Pasca snarled. "No."

He didn't know what made him more angry; the annoying female of his species that wouldn't get off his case, or the fact that there was a case in the first place.

"You'll find it sometime, I'm sure." The bitch was enjoying this. Damn her.

"Naturally," he gritted out between pointy rows of razor-like teeth. "There has to be a logical explanation. It's as if it's hidden behind a strong barrier. I can't feel my connection to it at all. But I _know_ it wasn't destroyed."

"Yes, as you've told me again and again... and again." Rima rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're just losing your touch?"

"Of course not!" Pasca straightened from his slouch at the accusation. He glared at his leach of a companion. "I can't even find it through the rift - that should be impossible!"

"Look harder?" she offered.

"Fuck y-"

Pasca snapped his mouth shut. He concentrated, sending Rima a sharp wave to silence her. He held his breath and... There!

"Finally," he muttered, springing to his feet. He had to leave before the connection to that blasted Death Note dimmed again. He jumped over the edge of the cliff without a second glance back.

"You go!" Rima's laughing voice echoed around him as the world melted away.

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A/N: Reviews would be much appreciated! I will answer each one to the best of my abilities. :)


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